Doormat
by dawnrune
Summary: "It doesn't matter if you're a doormat, gay, or just plain stupid, but you're pretty screwed, man. We warned you. We told you not to marry that fat jerk, Butters…"


**Pairings: **Cartman/Butters, Jesus/OC, past Butters/OC

**Genre:** Why isn't "Fucked" a genre?

**Summary:** "It doesn't matter if you're a doormat, gay, or just plain stupid, but you're pretty screwed, man. We warned you. We told you not to marry that fat fuck, Butters…"

**Warnings:** Slash… sort of. Written for comedic purposes, but wound up way more romantic than I'd intended. They're in their 30's. Extremely foul language, slurs that are racist, sexist, and homophobic, and other offensive things commonly associated with Eric Cartman, used for the sole purpose of being true to Cartman's character and DO NOT reflect my personal opinions or world view whatsoever, so please don't hurt me. I didn't feel like writing Cartman as a mature adult. Oh well. Also, intentional shoddy use of US political and medical knowledge. Liberties taken with canon. Mockery of the Old Testament. Trivialization of violence, drug use, and death. Many fat jokes. Really gross toilet humor. Lastly, the plot was inspired by an episode of Drawn Together, which only makes this worse. I'm probably going to hell for this for a hundred different reasons. This could be the most offensive thing I've written since I was fourteen. Or ever.

Enjoy!

**Doormat**

by some stupid loser asshole named Risa

Everything in South Park is as it should be. Aliens totally aren't probing anyone, or so our government tells us. Terrance and Phillip would soon celebrate their 29th season of flatulent flippancy. People online were complaining that it was getting stale now, that it just ain't what it used to be, but they were just a bunch of fags anyway. Kenny still wasn't permanently dead, despite over five thousand of his internal organs having been harvested and donated. The quacks discovered his secret and decided to take advantage, for the "greater good." There is no one who has ever regretted being an organ donor more than Kenny. It seemed like every stupid fuck in town thought they could just trash their livers with drugs and alcohol to the brink of death and have fresh ones brought to them daily, at the cost of Kenny's life several times per day, but who cares? Best of all, the quacks didn't pay him for it, so he continued to live in poverty and smell like rotten milk and his own ass, much to Eric Cartman's amusement.

What Cartman didn't find amusing, though, is that Kenny hadn't spoken to him in over six years.

And Kenny wasn't the only one. There was mutiny on facebook all targeted at Eric Cartman. All at once everyone just started blocking him. They blocked his cell phone number, too, and ignored his e-mails, tweets, Skype, you name it, and they blocked or ignored him. Everyone but his mom, and all she did these days was post pictures of Kitty 3 licking his butthole, or something equally lame.

It was all because Kyle was an oversensitive prick. A weeping, sniveling, turdwad of a Jewprick. He probably wiped his tears and blew his nose on his circumcised dick skin daily.

Anyway, back when Eric was twenty-three, and the media was racist against big-boned people thanks to Michelle Obama, no one on the dating website was interested in going out with Cartman based only on his profile picture. He didn't know what their fucking problem was. He was smart, funny, handsome, could shove an entire hotdog down his throat without chewing, and those chicks owed it to him to give him a chance, god damn it! He was a perfectly nice guy on the inside, but these chicks were assholes, so Eric felt justified in a little deception.

He sneaked a half-naked photo of Kyle without permission, and put it up as his own profile picture, but that wasn't all. Cartman adjusted his bio to mention how he—one handsome Jew with perfect nipples—was totally good with money and screwing people over. Chicks dig that. And actually, many started flocking toward him after that, asking where and when they could meet up.

It was all perfect, until he got caught. Little did he know that Kyle had an account on that same site, so Cartman was reported and banned. Not long after that, everyone cut all ties with him forever. At first he thought it was just Kyle, Stan, and Kenny being a bunch of stupid wieners like they sometimes were, and eventually they'd come crawling back like they always did, but not this time. One-by-one they all started disappearing: Token, Tweek, Craig, Clyde, Jimmy, Timmy, Wendy, Bebe, Mr. Garrison, Towelie, and just… EVERYONE blocked him. Butters was the longest hold out, but never one to miss a herd to be followed, Butters eventually blocked Cartman, too, rendering him completely alone, except for his mom.

It was so fucking stupid! Cartman rationalized that he was better off without them. All of them! He always hated those guys anyway. They couldn't avoid him completely, though. South Park was a small town, and Cartman made damn sure to fart in every aisle they shopped in, to play Justin Bieber in his car at an excruciating volume, and to leave turds in their children's trick-or-treat bags until they stopped coming over. Mom wasn't too happy about that, but she just didn't understand vengeance and how important it was. Moms were generally ignorant on such sophisticated topics.

Anyway, Eric grew bored of the shenanigans once he hit thirty. He just didn't have the energy to go outside anymore, and people sucked anyway. He figured his room was as good a place as any to eat, poop, and die, so he just stopped leaving altogether. That was about the time his mom begged him to see a doctor after mostly festering in his bedroom for three years without a job. He claimed he was just too woozy and sore to work, and work was boring anyway.

Once he made a decent living writing erotica and teen romance and posting it on amazon under the pseudonym Toris Clitginacunt. The T's were silent. Yeah, he totally wrote some bullshit stories about stupid women who hate their lives being abused by pale, buff men with lots of money. That was always the basic formula. People ate that shit up like fried chicken skin. The key to success was throwing whips and chains into one story, cancer in another, and sometimes vampires. Sparkly vampires made him a shitton of money once, all of which he'd sent to Canada so that they'd keep Terrance and Philip on the air despite its sharp decline in popularity. Never let it be said that Eric Cartman didn't support a good cause with his riches.

But that writing job sucked after awhile, especially when buttholes started complaining that Cartman's art was undermining the feminist movement, whatever the hell that means. They also said that he wrote like a spoiled eight year old with daddy issues. Even Stephen King bashed his work! Everyone's a fucking critic! So Toris Clitginacunt was no more, and neither was the money, so Cartman's mom really wanted him to get a job and support himself.

But he claimed he was too sick to work, so his mom told him to see a doctor, then get a job, or she would have to cancel their cable and Internet, and Cartman would be damned if he missed Season 29 of Terrance and Phillip, after all the money he put into saving their careers.

The doctor told him that he had extremely high blood pressure, Type 2 Diabetes, and possible organ failure. Cartman was as round as a ball these days, and the doctor urged him to consider getting gastric bypass. However, Cartman's mom could barely afford this quack, or duckter, as they were sometimes called. The doctor was literally a duck. Don't ask me how a duck can diagnose potentially fatal conditions in humans and perform gastric bypass. I don't fucking know!

To add insult to injury, Eric wasn't the only Cartman that was dying. Not four days after his own doctor visit, his mom suddenly collapsed. At first Eric didn't notice. He just thought she was being a butthole, refusing to get him some cookies and soda because of his diabetes. He'd get them himself, but his joints were too sore, his balls were too itchy, and television was too compelling. Kitty 3 had to bite his ankle to get him off his ass, and once he was up Eric suddenly realized how serious the situation was.

"Oh shit! No, MOM! Wake up! You have to wake up, goddamn you!" said Eric, nudging her with his foot since he couldn't bend down and check her pulse. "Oh my fucking god!"

He called 911, screaming at people over the phone and threatening to sue their asses off if they didn't hurry up. She wasn't getting up, and was pronounced dead at the scene once the ambulance arrived. It was the least awesome death that's ever happened, and Eric Cartman not only lost his precious mommy, but he couldn't possibly support himself. Society made it so that big-boned guys that live with their moms can't work, because society is racist. Well, thanks to those racist bastards Cartman was now completely screwed. Totally and utterly fucked. Right up the ass. With a hot poker. And no lube. This was a full force fucking that even Mr. Slave couldn't handle.

Speaking of fuck, let it be known that Liane Cartman is not a damn slut! Oh sure, she may have had syphilis, gonorrhea, Chlamydia, hepatitis b, herpes, genital warts, PID, HVP, HIV, scabies, and crabs, but that was all in the past. What Liane Cartman died of was the flu. The hog flu. Anyone could die of the hog flu, so everyone could just kiss his ass.

But he couldn't shove it in anyone's face because everyone was stupid and stopped being his friend. He could always go door-to-door and tell them anyway, and make them feel bad about his dead mom. Everyone should feel bad! If Jehova's Witnesses were good enough for their doorsteps then Eric Cartman would be damned if he wasn't.

The only problem was, walking was too hard, and he couldn't afford a wheelchair because stupid fuck fucking fuckwits had to go and bash the master work of Toris Clitginacunt like the bunch of no good, worthless hippies that they are. Cartman's muse was dead. Cartman's mom was also dead. Shortly he would be dead, too, and worse, homeless, if he couldn't find someone to assume responsibility of his disease-ridden body. He was too sick to work, and applying for disability and paying the bills was too difficult and boring, so he couldn't live alone. He just couldn't. At least one of those asshole friends of his owed him a place to stay.

He decided to start with the shitfucker that cost him all his friends in the first place.

"Hello?" said Kyle on the phone, whose air of superiority made Cartman's blood boil to this day. Kyle. That know-it-all. That asshole Jew. That Jewhole ass. That do-goody twat waffle that ruined everything. Cartman had the rant of a century bottled up inside, but instead chose to channel his anger productively.

"Oh, hello Kyle. Lovely weather," said Cartman, faking pleasantry like a fucking master. He totally deserved an Oscar.

"Who is this?" Kyle demanded, though Cartman sensed a hint of weariness in his voice, perhaps even a trace of guilt. Dude, sweet. Kyle was clearly stewing in guilt for how badly he screwed Cartman out of having friends and a life. Serves him right. He was probably unshaven, stewing in his own feces, and everything. Cartman had a quiet laugh to himself about it.

"It's your old pal Eric. Eric Cartman."

"Ugh." Cartman couldn't see Kyle pinching the bridge of his nose over the phone. If he could read Kyle's mind, he would see that what Kyle was actually thinking: "The one fucking time I answer a number I don't recognize and it's him. Of course."

"I know, I know. Sucks to be the guy that totally screwed your best friend over. I can feel the guilt eating away at you, Kyle, but you know what? It's not your fault. It's that Jew blood running through your veins prompting you to screw over the people you care about the most. You're genetically predisposed to screw on with your Jew self, and you know what? That's OK, Kyle. I like that about you, and I forgive you."

"Goodbye, Cartman," said Kyle.

"No, wait-wait-wai-" Click. And that was it. Kyle was just too stubborn to apologize for ruining Cartman's life. Fucking asshole. "Oh, god damn it!"

He bought a phone with prepaid minutes whose number Kyle wouldn't recognize just for this.

No matter. A better friend from the past would surely help. After Kyle, everyone was pretty much equal in how they screwed Cartman, so he decided to start calling them richest to poorest. Token threatened to have him arrested if he ever so much as breathed in the direction of his house. Craig told him he was a fat sack of crap and deserved to be alone. Jimmy had never forgotten the whole "fish dicks" incident, and would not welcome Cartman to mooch off of his food, or his creativity anymore. Wendy informed him that there was an opening for the Sexual Harassment Panda position, because it was her job as a career counselor to do so. As a human being, though, she told him to fuck right off. Stan, Clyde, Tweek, Timmy, and most of his other old classmates changed their numbers. That only left two people: Butters and Kenny. Cartman hated Butters too goddamn much to stomach the thought, so he skipped his number altogether, leaving only Kenny.

"Kenny, my best friend in the whole wide world ever forever, how's it going?"

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" said Kenny in a raspy voice. He'd been trying to kill his organ donor gig with the quacks by ruining his internal organs through chain smoking. Unfortunately, no one was transplanting throats, and didn't really give a damn what smoking did to his other organs. Every duckter in this town was a quack these days. A total fucking quack, with douchebag bills, webbed feet, you get the idea. They also had guns. And they were all after Kenny. Needless to say, he was in no mood for this.

"No, dude. Hear me out. I've got hookers."

"I'm gay," said Kenny.

"Well that's fantastic, because they just happen to be dudes. They're dude hookers, Kenny."

"Get to the titfucking point, jackoff."

"Now, now, let's not get our panties in a twist, girlfriend. How would you like to help an old friend in need? Stick it to those assholes with more money than you? Despite your limited means, take in a friend in need? Stick it to the man? Money isn't everything?"

"Fuck no!" said Kenny.

"Look. If you're trying to make a quick buck for cigarettes, I know a black market that'll take your spleen."

"Bullshit! Black market, white market, purple market, Christmas poo, underwear gnomes, ManBearPigs, they'll all take my liver and kidneys! Every. Fucking. Day. The quacks are everywhere. They're sapping me like a fucking oil rig… aww shit, I think that's them now."

There was a distinct sound of quacking and gunfire on the line, not that Cartman gave a damn.

"Look, Kenny. I don't have time to listen to your poor, fudge packing bitch ass whine about global warming. Now please let's just move on and let me move in with you and your lover Big Gay Al Gore."

"I'm not gay, you fuckin' asshole."

"But you just said-"

"Tits, cocks, vulvas. Peace out, dick-o."

A quack. A gunshot. A panicked scream. And then: Click.

"Oh that stupid, son-of-a-BRUAAAAGHHHH!"

Cartman slammed his phone into the toilet, flushed, and cried for two days straight. He missed his mom. He hated being alone.

Eventually it occurred to him that there was one place left to turn. Fucking cockass hell.

* * *

Leopold "Butters" Stotch, on the other hand, had a very stable and wonderful adult life if you asked him. The biggest perk was that he lived in his own house, and his parents couldn't possibly ground him in his own house. Unlike being a vampire, being thirty wasn't grounds for being ungroundable, but I digress.

Anyway, he had everything a simple guy could possibly want: a stable full-time job at his local grocer, a car to drive, a beautiful wife named Shirley Temple Stotch, and an adorable daughter named Savannah Smiles Stotch. And he loved them so, so, so, so much. They were his sunshine, his rainbows, his everything, and he would come home every day with lots of discount groceries, and he'd cook them dinner and sing about how much he loved them and how much he loved life. It was great.

While it lasted.

I know what you must be thinking. We love every sweet, innocent, gullible bone in Butters' modest little body, but he's just not ready for the real world, and won't be even if he turns a hundred. Therefore Shirley is a cold-hearted bitch that divorced him out of the blue, took Savannah, moved to Butte Montana, and made him pay child support out the ass. She also sued him for some bullshit. That's exactly what you're thinking, and you're wrong. Butters actually managed to find a pure, innocent, sweet, best woman in all of South Park.

And she died in a tragic bus accident.

Now it was just Butters and Savannah, in a house that seemed entirely too big now. Butters got one unpaid day off from work to spread Shirley's ashes, but after that it was back to the old grind.

He had to ask his parents to babysit Savannah every day now. She was only three, so she hadn't started school yet. She was painfully shy around everyone but the neighbor's dog, and that dog was known to hump people at random, so Butters didn't like that too much. He'd rather risk his parents relentlessly grounding poor Savannah, despite her being perfect in all ways.

That's right, Savannah was perfect in all ways, and therefore everything that seemed sad or unfair just didn't matter. Butters was happy. He was so lucky to have a job, a stable home environment, a daughter, and a place in this world, and Shirley would always watch over them. Eventually he'd stop crying himself to sleep over her.

He sure was lonely. Going back to an empty bed was a difficult adjustment. Butters lost quite a bit of sleep over it.

Then an unexpected guest dropped by.

* * *

"Hey Butters, how's it going?" said Eric Cartman, an ever… expanding member of his childhood, turned up out of the blue. Seriously, Butters remembered Eric being rather large for as long as he'd known him, but now he wondered if he'd even fit through the front door. Honestly, he didn't want to find out. Eric was stout, greasy, sprouted an unpleasant neck beard, was balding awkwardly while having long stringy hair in the back, and smelled like bloody diarrhea, all of which would be fine if the person inside weren't far worse than the package he came in. Butters was pretty sure his occasional night terrors, panic attacks, and irritable bowel syndrome were all because of the trouble Eric caused him growing up. He was just a bully. This was the epitome of everything Butters didn't want his Savannah exposed to at such a delicate age.

"H-hey, Eric. What a surprise," said Butters, unable to establish eye contact. His father told him he wouldn't get far in life with this sort of demure attitude he's always had. That real men didn't do things such as shy, or soft-spoken, or nice, or generous, but Butters was tired of denying who he was and what he valued. By golly he just wanted to be himself without any grief. Still, he hoped he'd be able to make Eric go away without hurting his feelings. That man was nothing but trouble. "You look… well."

"Yeah, well, I feel like shit!" Cartman belted, spittle raining across Butters' face. Against Cartman he looked like a gnome who was about to be squashed. Butters was short for a man, skinny, anxious, and unable to make socially acceptable facial expressions and gestures. He knew and accepted all of this, hence why he was happy as can be. And he wanted to stay happy. Everything in him was screaming for Eric Cartman to hit the road, but his good nature usually got the better of him, and this just had to be one of those times.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Would you like to come in, Eric?" Welcoming the son-of-a-bitch into his home was beyond all reason. Darn it. Oh well. It was late. Savannah was asleep. Maybe he'd get lucky and Eric would leave forever before she woke up.

"Sweet." Much to Butters' amazement, Cartman was able to fit through the front door. He was even able to fit on the living room coach, though that creaking noise the floorboards were making was none too comforting. Oh, hamburgers.

"Can I get you a drink of water, Eric?"

"No, no-no. Let's skip the formalitahs, shall we?

"Butters, you need to help me. You're the only one who can."

'Will' was the word he was looking for actually and him and Butters both knew it, or at least Butters did. Eric was the type of person that believed his own lies, whereas Butters was the type of person who put up with it despite knowing that. This wouldn't end well.

"Err, umm. Well, that is…"

"Cool, cool. My stuff's in the trunk. Be a doll and grab it for me. I'd do it myself, but I'm already comfy."

Cartman tossed his car keys to Butters, who caught them and stared down at his clenched fist, dumbfounded. How the fuck could Eric Cartman fit inside a car?

"Are you deaf or retarded? That stuff's not gonna get itself, Butters."

"Oh, right!" said Butters, and once he was out the door it really dawned on him. Eric was suddenly in his home—his space—barking orders at him like he was some sort of lap dog. Curse his deeply engrained habit of not adhering to his own wishes and well-being. He really ought to lay down some ground rules and establish a position of dominance, and make it perfectly clear that Eric was his guest, not his boss.

He grabbed all of Cartman's boxes and bags and brought them into his home, trying to work out how he was going to survive this.

"Nice place you got here. Too bad about your wife, though, pff-fff-hah-hah."

Butters should not have ignored Eric chortling about his dead wife, but it was just so... Eric of him, and a nostalgic feeling set in. It was like Eric was genetically predisposed to being a complete giant douche. Or a total turd sandwich. Oh, but Butters shouldn't think such foul things. He had to be better than that. Lead by example. For Savannah.

Oh my God, Savannah.

Jesus help us all.

* * *

Jesus couldn't help anyone right now. See, He met this gorgeous new woman in heaven named Shirley Temple Tation and fell in love instantly, so He decided to take a break from other people's problems and answer His own prayers for once.

* * *

"Um, Eric. About… you staying…"

"I know, right? Funny how the world works. What are the odds of your wife and my… and my mom dying at around the same time?" A crocodile tear tricked down the many folds of Cartman's face, and Butters brought his hand to his mouth.

"Oh, Eric. I'm so sorry. I didn't know about your mom!"

"Nahw! Of course not! Nobody does! Nobody cares! Everyone thinks they can just cut me out of their lives because of a few harmless pranks. See, Butters, all I ever wanted was to bring joy and laughter to others, and in return I am cast away. Banished! Now my myyaa-haa-haamm is dead and nobody cares, waaahhh!" Cartman buried his face in his hands and sobbed loudly. He was going to wake Savannah at this rate, but Butters didn't care. He was close to tears himself.

"I care, Eric. Me! A-as long as your old pal Butters is here you'll never be alone," said Butters, so taken by Cartman's raw display of emotions that he threw his arms around the gargantuan man. Cartman's sobbing stopped dead in its tracks, and his ogre-like arms shoved the small man away.

"All right, all right. Enough gay crap, Butters. If we're gonna live together we… wait a minute," he said, a light bulb flicking on over his head, and he muttered "gay crap" a few more times.

"Butters, how good is your job?"

Butters sniffled. "P-pretty good, I suppose. Enough so my f-family can get by."

"Cool. And what about health insurance? Does your health insurance cover family members and preexisting conditions?"

"U-u-umm, yes. I mean, that's a law now, I think."

"Sweet, well. Don't let me keep you up, Butters. It was kind of you to invite me into your beautiful home. You have truly touched my heart with your generositah."

"Aww, shucks," said Butters, placing his hand on Eric's. "Anytime, old pal."

"Hello, gay-I mean," Cartman patted Butters' hand and gritted his teeth. "Goodnight, Butters."

"Goodnight, Eric."

* * *

"You're not seriously going to let that asshole live with you, right?" said Stan over the phone.

"Oh, Stanley. I tried to tell him. It was hard enough blocking him on facebook, but…"

"But nothing. Dude, Cartman is a fat, selfish, destructive, racist, manipulative, sociopathic douchetank, and you've just invited all five billion pounds of him to walk all over you. Are you out of your fucking mind, Butters?"

"Wow, I mean. Eric's not all that bad. He just needs some… help, that's all."

"What he needs is to be kicked in the nuts. Repeatedly."

"His mom just passed away."

"So did my ferret, but you don't see me trying to mooch off of every doormat in town."

"Hey, I am not a doormat!" Butters spat, becoming irritated with this conversation, despite how badly he needed it. He called Stan because he needed to be told what he already knew, but it just wasn't working. Instead, he got defensive. "I'm a good dad, a good husband, and a good friend."

"Then you don't need me on the phone at one in the morning. Goodnight, Butters."

"G-goodnight, Stanley… "

And with that, his resolve crumbled completely. Although he knew he was making a huge mistake, Cartman was here to stay indefinitely.

On the bright side, if the pain of dealing with Cartman killed him early, he'd get to go to heaven and see Shirley.

* * *

"Jesus! Jesus! Oh-oh yes. Ohhhh YES!"

"Oh yeah, what's my name, baby? Say it."

"JESUS! Oh baby, slap my tush again. I've been soooo naughty."

"He who is without sin slap the first ass, baby." SMACK.

"Oh Jesus! Harder! Harder! Shirley's in your temple tonight, my Lord."

Perhaps Butters would be better off riding out the Eric Cartman storm after all…

* * *

Surprisingly Eric was nowhere to be found the next morning. His stuff was still all over the place, so Butters supposed he was in the bathroom. He put on a pot of coffee and did a few stretches to get the blood flowing. He hadn't been to the gym once since Shirley passed away, and now he was feeling a bit fluffy and out of shape. His father used to ground him for not being physically fit enough, but Butters didn't need to worry about that anymore. What he needed was to get Savannah up and out of bed so she could stay at grammy and grampy's, that is, Shirley's parents. They lived in Bailey near a farm with some rather scary cows, which is why Butters didn't bring her there often. Even so, it'd be easier than explaining the new houseguest to her. She was horribly shy around new people.

"Teeheehee," Butters heard coming from Savannah's room. She was probably just having some fun with her stuffed bunnies and Butters' old toys. Then he heard an ominous creek from the ceiling over the kitchen and decided that couldn't be good. Chipped paint was raining from the ceiling and everything. He decided to go upstairs and check on his daughter, who was having a tea party with none other than Eric Cartman. He was wearing a bonnet and everything.

Butters didn't know what surprised him more, Eric getting up the stairs, or Savannah happily spending time with him.

"Did you hear the latest gossip?" Cartman squeaked while waving a toy frog in his hand. "Mrs. Otter dunked her butthole in the tea."

"I most certainly did not!" said 'Mrs. Otter,' and the two stuffed animals were engaged in a quibble that had Savannah giggling like Butters had never heard before. He had no idea that Eric was so good with kids. It was a rather charming sight that made him feel like warm pancakes on the inside. Savannah had a hard time opening up to anyone, but she was completely smitten with Eric.

"Hi, daddy!" Savannah ran up to Butters and gave him a great, big hug. "Do you like the dress I picked today?"

"Of course I do. You look like a princess in everything you wear," he said, giving her Eskimo kisses. He completely missed the gagging gestures Eric was making in the background. "Grammy and grampy will love it, too."

"Do… do I have to go, daddy?" said Savannah, suddenly crestfallen.

"Yes, dumpling. They miss you, and daddy has a lot of work to do today."

"Can papa Eric come? He saids he'll make hamburgers out of the scary cows."

"Oh, well gosh… honey, no. I'm awfully sorry, but I need Eric here today." The large man at the absurdly tiny tea table was looking entirely too pleased with himself all of a sudden. "Grammy and grampy will protect you from the scary cows. In fact, there's a carnival they can take you to in Denver today. Would you like that?"

"I suppose," she said, though she was clearly disappointed. She walked toward Eric and hugged one of his massive arms, each as big as she was at least. "Will papa Eric be here when I come home?"

Before Butters could answer that, Eric picked Savannah up over his head and gave her a big smile. "Of course I will, pfft-fft-dumpling. Eskimo kisses!"

It would have been the most absurdly sweet sight in the world if it wasn't the absolute worst person in South Park giving Butters' daughter Eskimo kisses. Even so, Butters couldn't help but enjoy seeing his daughter so happy and delighted in another person's presence. Perhaps the child psychologist was right, and she would be able to cope with her mother's death and have a normal life.

A life that seemed to be including Eric Cartman more and more by the minute. Butters still wasn't sure how he felt about that.

It'd taken him two hours to drive to Bailey and back, and the whole time his mind was doing the damned Olympics over how to deal with Eric being in his house. Stan was right, after all. No one was a better manipulator than Eric. After all, he went right to the core of everything holding Butters' delicate world together, his precious daughter. It took Eric only a half-an-hour to win Savannah over completely, to the point where she'd already developed the habit of calling him 'papa,' which didn't bode well for Butters kicking Eric out at all. He would not only screw over a friend in need, but his daughter would hate him forever if he just cast Eric out.

On the other hand, Eric was such a terrible person that he could potentially make Savannah's life a big, horrible mess, and what kind of dad would let that happen? Either way, Butters felt like a horrible father. If anyone wasn't going to win this one, it was him.

So he decided he was going to kick Eric out of his home. Perhaps Savannah would hate him for it, but he'd sooner be hated by his little princess then have her grow up with Eric around.

At least, that's what he decided every other minute, until he decided again and again and again that it would be best if Eric stayed after all. Oh, his head was spinning so much he had to pull over twice and throw up.

Perhaps worrying wasn't the answer. Perhaps he and Eric would just have to sit down and have a long, hard conversation. Like real adults. Which they were. Oh, hamburgers. Just thinking about it made him queasy again, not to mention he felt like he was gonna poop his pants any minute. Curse you, IBS!

At least the big poop attack waited until Butters got home. He barged in, running for the nearest toilet, and Eric called out to him, "Hey Butters. I've got something supper important we need to talk about right now. It can't possibly wait another second."

"Not now, Eric! Tummy troubles."

An eruption of farts blasted through the downstairs bathroom, and the smell was unspeakable.

That wouldn't stop Eric Cartman, though. He was a man on a mission, so he stepped into the bathroom like it was no big deal, and Butters was hugging his tummy and crying like this was the worst day of his life.

"Please give me some privacy, Eric."

"I would, Butters. You know that I respect and honor your every desire, which is why this cannot possibly wait. There is nothing you want more than what I'm about to ask you."

Eric had a hard time getting down on one unbearably arthritic knee, and the smell coming from Butters was so awful that he had to pull his shirt up over his nose, or die. He took a completely eaten Ring Pop out of his pocket and grabbed Butters' right hand. "The candy portion would still be there if you hadn't taken so fucking long to get home, so I'm sure you understand."

"U-understand? I really don't understand, what are you…" but Butters' question was stopped short by another blast of burning, runny bowels, and Eric had the nerve to laugh about it. Well, actually, Butters laughed, too. Farts were always funny.

"Leopold Stotch, will you marry me?"

"Jesus Christ!" Butters shouted to the heavens. Unbeknownst to him, his late wife was doing the same, only she was having hot, kinky sex, whereas he was glued to the toilet and weeping for his soul.

"I know, it's a big decision, and you'll need to do a lot of thinking, but here's what I figure. We don't have to actually be gay about it. We just have to put on a show. Neither of us are gay, so it'll be just a marriage of convenience, if you will. You won't be betraying your dead wife in any way. You'll just be helping your best friend out by letting him use your health insurance, a small portion of your money, and live in your home. They let gays do that now, you know."

"But Eric, that's dishonest, and it's too soon. Shirley died only a month ago, and you and I aren't even gays…"

"Nobody has to know that, Butters. Besides, everyone thinks you're gay anyway. Even your parents."

"That's… true, I guess," Butters conceded, much to his horror. What was he saying? His resolve couldn't be slipping through him as quickly as his bowel movements. He had to fight this. He had to.

"See? What difference does it make? I mean, are you gonna let a little thing like gay marriage come between me and my insulin? I could die without insulin, Butters, and it would be your fault because you let your dead wife get in the way of our holy matrimony. She could be fucking Jesus Christ Himself right now for all we know. I mean, hell, it's 'til death do us part' right? So it wouldn't even be cheating. She's not your wife anymore, Butters. You need to move on."

Butters sniffled and blew his nose on some toilet paper. "You're right, Eric. I do need to move on. It's just… I love her so much. Why did she have to die?"

"Because life's a bitch, Butters. Any pussy fart could tell you that."

"B-b-but Eric, it feels like I have a hole in my heart. If it weren't for Savannah I would die!" Butters wailed, sobbed, and shit his brains out some more. The smell of it was breaking through Cartman's shirt and it was making him dizzy. He couldn't get up and find any spray right now, because getting back down on his knee to resume the proposal would be too much work. This really sucked.

"Oww, fuck," Eric grumbled, and he broke out in a sweat. Butters needed to say yes and fast, or the pain in his knee was going to cripple him. "Well, Butters, if you marry me then you'll give yourself just one more reason to live. Now wouldn't that make you just the happiest little shit pants son-of-a-bitch—_owwgoddamncockfuck_—on this planet?"

"Not really," said Butters with a sigh.

"Come on, Butters. Quit pretending like you don't want this. Hell, I'll even go all gay for you if you insist. Is that what you want? Do you want your wiener pleasured by the hands of a capable man? I can do even better with my mouth if you prefer. It's nowhere I haven't been before, and my tongue knows its way around a Twinkie. Just make sure your muddy little butthole's all cleaned up before you expect me to stick my finger in it."

"Cut it out, Eric! Please!" Butters was actually blushing, but he was still hunched over, so it was hard to tell if he had a boner. Cartman would just assume that he did and move on.

"Oh, Leopold, I have a confession to make."

"Aww geez…"

"I love you, with all my heart and soul. Don't you feel it? Don't you feel that deep connection between us? Don't you feel like we've been lovers in past lifetimes?"

"Err, no?" A couple of nervous little farts squeaked out of him, doing absolutely nothing for the mood.

"Well good, because reincarnation's for fags. See how much we have in common?"

"Stop this, Eric. I know that you need health insurance to cover your medical expenses, and I know you need a home and a friend. I just don't want to be used anymore. I can't take it! I want Savannah to grow up in a house full of warmth and love, not lies and-and false gay marriages."

"But it doesn't have to be false, Leopold. I told you I love you, didn't I?"

"That doesn't make it true," Butters mumbled.

"It does if you think it does. Take me for example. I believe, with all my heart and soul, that I love you. That I love your annoying stutter, your faggy haircut, your stupid face, the way you have a hard time looking at me because you love me so much that the sight of me makes you break down in tears…"

Surely enough, Butters looked up at Eric and began to cry again. It was working, which was good because the stabbing pain in Eric's knee was just not cool. The only thing worse was the smell coming from Butters' ass.

"Maybe you're right, Eric. Maybe I do l-love you. But I still can't marry you. Think of Savannah. She just lost her mom."

"Leopold, dearest, I can never replace her mom, but just imagine how happy she'll be when she finds out papa Eric is here to stay. She loves me, you know. She and I, and Frog Lass, and Mrs. Otter, and the hundred Easter bunnies, all have a special connection now. You wouldn't… deprive Savannah of that connection, would you, Butters?"

"Of course not. Savannah is my world." Butters smiled just thinking about it. He thought of the good old days where he'd sing to his family about how much he loved them, and picturing Eric there wasn't all that bad. In fact, it fit. It was perfect. Too good to be true, even. It had a… wickedly delightful taste to it. Butters had the urge to chuckle, or even cackle. Yes. All Eric ever needed was some sunshine and rainbows to wear down that rough exterior. "Aww, shucks. Of course I'll marry you, Eric."

"Fucking finally!" Cartman slid the stump of a Ring Pop onto Butters' dainty little finger, and left the bathroom before the pain in his knee and the smell could kill him. Sure, he'd just condemned himself to being gay married to a fag like Butters for the rest of his life, and had to deal with his brat child who hated cows for some reason, but all things considered things could be much, much worse. For instance, Kenny didn't have health insurance, and thanks to Obamacare and the quacks he had to pay for his stay in this world with his internal organs, which didn't do Cartman a damn bit of good. At least Butters was useful, and gay enough to marry him.

What he didn't take into account, though, is that Butters already had his own diabolical plans regarding this marriage.

* * *

"Oh, oh, oh, oh god. Oh god, fellas. What have I done? I can't do this."

"Dude, dude, it's OK. Chill out," said Kyle, patting Butters on the back in hopes that he wouldn't start hyperventilating again. The distraught man called an emergency meeting in some backwater pub that Eric would be just too fat and lazy to find. There he met up with Kyle, Stan, and Kenny, who would help see him through this.

"Yeah. Don't worry, dude. It's simple," said Stan, gulping down some beer. The drunker he got, the more he could speak rationally without telling Butters what a complete fucking doormat he was. "Quit being a complete fucking doormat and tell that fat waste of oxygen to get the fuck out of your house."

"Damn right!" said Kenny, throwing a chair at the dart board as he smoked two cigarettes at once and chugged an entire fifth of vodka. He felt the urge to be drunk and pissed on Butters' behalf since Butters didn't drink.

"B-but guys. What if Eric's right? What if I do l-love him?"

"That's not for him to decide," Kyle snapped, enraged that Cartman still managed to poison everything he went near. Now Butters honestly thought he couldn't think for himself, and it didn't even take twenty-four hours to break him. This had to be stopped. "Look, Butters. You know what love is better than any of us, certainly better than Cartman! You were married, for Christ's sake! You're the only one in this bar that's ever had a successful marriage. If Shirley were still alive you two would still be together, right?"

"O-of course. She was my everything."

"And do you feel like Cartman's your 'everything?'" Kyle demanded.

"I… I… I don't know. I'm so confused."

"At least he didn't say yes," Stan said to Kyle.

"Well, fuck. There might be some hope for you yet," said Kenny, putting out his cigarettes. "Take our word for it. Lose the dead weight. All eight hundred tons of it."

"Yeah, seriously. I know you're a doormat, bro, but even useless squares of dirty fabric have their limits," said Stan, lighting up his own cigarette now.

"I… I'm not a d-doormat!" Butters insisted. "I chose to marry Eric because I wanted to. For me and my daughter."

"Butters, that asshole's going to ruin your daughter's life," said Stan. "We're all fucked up from having been associated with him."

"Speak for yourself," Kyle and Kenny quipped in, though just the look of them presented a very valid point. On the outside, Kyle was a very wealthy and successful lawyer just like his dad; however, unlike his dad, he had two ex-wives and was paying child support to both of them, not to mention he lost his leg in the war, and was still having to pay his insurance companies for the hundred surgeries and his prosthetic leg. He also survived cancer. Kenny, well. You know Kenny's story, unless you haven't been paying attention, which is your own damn fault. In any case, they were fucked up, and Stan was fucked up, too. He'd checked into rehab twice this year, both times completely unsuccessful, and he was unemployed. And he still occasionally walked into his room to find the word "TURD" etched on his bed sheets in Shelly's menstrual blood. And his ferret died. Aside from these losers and his dad, that ferret was his only friend.

"Maybe he's changed, you know? Sometimes people change. Love can heal them. Remember that movie _Moonlight_, based on that book by Toris Clitginacunt? When Della Goose accepted Rob Schneider into her heart even though he was just a-a yucky old shoe, and they became a pair of yucky old shoes together in the end when they kissed?"

"He was a dildo in the book," said Kenny.

"Dude, how the fuck do you get from dildo to shoe?" asked Stan.

Kenny shrugged. "Book's always better."

"Those books fucking suck every maggot-infested ass that ever was. I can't even believe this came up in conversation," Kyle grumbled. There was just something about Toris Clitginacunt's writing that reminded him of everything he hated about life, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

"Sorry," said Butters. "Anyway, you should have seen how good Eric was with Savannah. She loves him already. And he even gave me this nice engagement Ring Pop."

"And who exactly ate the candy portion of it?" said Kyle, despite already knowing the answer.

"Well… he did."

All three of them now had splitting headaches from what they saw as a raw display of unforgivable stupidity. Why did they even bother? Sabotaging Eric Cartman just wasn't fun anymore. It was just tiresome and annoying. Therefore the only logical conclusion was that, for some reason, Butters' well-being actually meant something to them. Butters was, again, the only one who had a successful marriage. The only one who had a kid that didn't hate him. The only one who was happy with where he lived. The only one who was happy with his job.

And here he was, about to throw it all away because some stupid asshole got into his head. This wasn't going to end well for anybody, that's for damn sure.

And yet there was no stopping it. For now, Cartman won the battle. He won Butters' heart. Jesus help us all.

* * *

But Jesus was still busy with Ms. Temple Tation, as they'd yet to complete the 101 creative ways to penetrate your lover's no-no hole. You could say that Jesus and his dad had a bit of a falling out, and Jesus was rebelling right now. The Old Testament was full of shit anyway.

So Jesus said, "Let there be sodomy!" And there was. And it was good.

"Sooooo gooooooood," Shirley cried out as she never had before.

* * *

It took Cartman just two days to set up the wedding. It would be held in Butters' driveway for the whole neighborhood to see. Attending were, of course, Butters' daughter and parents. The pot heads, who were once known as the goth kids. They were much happier these days. Al Gore, who was thuper, duper cereal about protecting this wedding from ManBearPig. Kyle, Stan, and Kenny also came, against their better judgment. After all, seven years without seeing Cartman the Hut could have just as easily been forever, but for some reason they couldn't quite put their finger on, they gave just an ounce of a shit about Butters. They were going to have to be there for Butters when this all blew up in his face, so they might as well get used to the train wreck now.

That's how Kenny and Stan rationalized it. Or they could both respectively die of a freak Cthulu attack and alcohol poisoning before the worst marriage in the history of ever failed miserably. Either way.

Kyle hadn't given up hope, though. While Cartman's infinite chins wobbled to the beat of him barking orders at everyone, Kyle took him aside for a few minutes. It was all he could do not to mace this fucker for the morally bankrupt crime he was about to commit.

"What the fuck do you want, fag?" said Cartman, who hadn't changed a bit, and likely never would in the whopping two years maximum he had left to live. "Wait, I know what this is. I know you think we're technically still boyfriends since we never formally broke up after Nicole and Token hooked back up, but you brought this upon yourself when you stopped being my facebook friend. Facebook breakup means real breakup, Kyle, and you need to accept that and move on."

Kyle had no idea what Cartman was talking about and didn't want to know.

"Look, asshole," Kyle had to pinch the bridge of his nose already. The stupidity hurt too much. "I know why you're doing this. You plan on mooching off of Butters because you can't mooch off of your mom anymore, so there's nothing I can say to make you call this whole thing off."

"Maybe if there weren't so many Jews in the world, victims like me could afford insurance."

"Shut up!" Kyle wanted to kill him. He could already taste the blood, and the only thing that stopped him is that Cartman just wasn't worth going to jail over, even if his death did the world a favor. "Jewish people have nothing to do with it. You just use us as a convenient scapegoat to gloss over how selfish, lazy, and worthless you are."

"You just keep telling yourself that, Kyle," said Cartman with a very fake yawn. "Now if you're quite done I have a wedding to get back to."

"No, I'm not 'quite done,' Cartman! Unlike you, Butters is my friend, and for god only knows why he's seriously convinced that he's in love with you. For his sake, I hope he is, because otherwise you're going to destroy what's left of him, and he doesn't deserve that, man. It's just not cool.

"So for once in your pathetic, egotistical, noxious, pernicious existence, do something right! Be the good husband Butters deserves, or I swear I will fucking murder you."

"Nuh-uh," said Cartman, and Kyle just threw his arms in the air and stomped away indignantly. They were all thoroughly, unabashedly screwed now. The only consolation was front row seats to the train wreck of the millennium. Never let it be said that Kyle didn't try. "Kyle's such a pussy. Worst boyfriend ever. Fuckin' Jew. Whateva. I'll do what I want!"

Meanwhile, Jesus decided to crash the wedding for a bit, and dropped in on Butters while he was putting his wedding dress on.

"So we're cool, right?" Jesus asked, because he was such a bro and all. "The whole Me-fornicating-with-your-dead-wife thing isn't going to expel Me from your heart, is it?"

"Of course not, Lord," said Butters, admiring how pretty he looked. Exactly as Eric had planned. "Til death do us part, and Shirley died, so we have parted. She'll always have a special place in my heart, but she's free now to sleep with whoever she wants to in heaven. You have my blessing."

"Thanks, Butters. You're the best," said Jesus, clapping Butters on the shoulder. "In fact, I owe you a freebie. This wedding of yours is a huge mista-"

"Butters, sweetie, it's time to come out now," said Butters' mom.

"OK, mom. I'll be right out," he answered. "Now what were you saying, Lord?"

But Jesus was gone. Butters' freebie was up, which was too bad because Jesus really could have saved him just now. Alas, Eric had a hold on him that Jesus Himself couldn't even hope to touch, and the wedding from hell was now underway. In fact, Satan decided to show up just to prove a point, which did nothing at all to deter Butters.

So the guys sat through the boring ceremony, only batting an eyelash when Cartman and Butters were finally pronounced douchelord and rug. Kenny opened his eyes when Cartman was told to "Kiss the rug."

"Gay," was all he said, with no intention of actually kissing Butters, but in an unprecedented fit of strength and resolve Butters yanked Eric's face down to his and kissed him for all he was worth. Savannah cheered and hugged them both. Butters' dad was fuming with jealousy. Mrs. Stotch, the pot heads, and Satan all wiped away tears of joy. Al Gore announced that ManBearPig was upon them, but no one cared. Stan threw up, and then cried over the loss of perfectly good scotch. Kenny held him while he cried, and cried a little himself, knowing that feel all too well. But Kyle. Oh, Kyle had never witnessed a greater injustice, a more thorough brain-washing. After all, not even a simple-minded loser like Butters could possibly find Eric Cartman lovable. There was just no way.

But he couldn't do anything about it. Not as long as Butters didn't want him to. Fucking hell. There had to be some redeeming quality to this, or the world just wasn't worth living in.

* * *

"Damn it, Butters. What the hell? I thought I said no gay stuff, you asshole."

"But Eric, you're supposed to kiss the bride. That's how weddings work."

"That's how straight weddings work, you butthole, argh!" Cartman squeezed half a bottle of toothpaste in his mouth and brushed until his gums were bleeding.

"I'm sorry, Eric. I won't do it again."

"You're damn right you won't! Now get me some cake and ice cream."

"But what about your diabetes?"

"WHO GIVESAFUCK ABUH MAH DIBEETUS!?" Cartman punched the bathroom mirror, shattering it into a million pieces, and shoved his bloody finger in Butters' face. "I'm the man in this relationship and I said fetch, woman!"

"No!" said Butters. "I won't take orders from you, and I won't poison you with sugary treats. As your husband it's my job to take care of you, and gosh darn it I will!"

"No one fucking asked you, Butters," said Cartman, stomping out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

"You did," said Butters, who suddenly had a volcano about to erupt from his ass. Despite that, he was laughing. Or perhaps even cackling. A cackle not heard since the days of Professor Chaos, which was weird. Good thing they had their first marital spat in the bathroom, though, or he would have ruined his mom's precious wedding dress.

Kyle heard the entire thing, except for Butters' cackling. That sounded like crying from a distance. Four minutes into this farcical marriage and it was already failing. That had to be some sort of record. Hopefully the daughter didn't hear any of it. It was exactly this sort of nonsense that was going to make her as stupid, hateful, and unproductive as everyone else in this town.

Which is why he was going to call DCF if Butters didn't get this annulled. It was the last shot Kyle had at saving him.

* * *

Of course, Butters called Kyle's bluff. Or so he thought, until DCF took Savannah away. "Eric Cartman" was the only information they needed to know. Not a soul in South Park was unfamiliar with that name, or the endless string of crimes associated with it.

"You are… my sunshine. M-my only… s-s-sunshine."

And as he sang his last song in front of his daughter's vacant bedroom door, Butters put the barrel of a gun in his mouth and…

* * *

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhh!" Eric awoke with a start, a little broken faggot of a man screaming and hyperventilating to his right. If only the dickwad hadn't insisted on sharing a bed, then Cartman could have slept through this. But no, "sharing a bed are what married couples do, even gay ones," according to the Internet, which sadly is never, ever wrong. Butters was also right about the stupid kiss at the wedding, so Cartman decided that it didn't count. He might have been married to a man, but that didn't make him gay.

No matter what anyone said.

And yes, the Internet did have his back on this one.

So there.

"What the fuck is your problem, Butters? Did you have that dream where that stupid Jew took our daughter away again? Because I already fucking told you, I killed him and fed his remains to hobos."

"N-no you didn't!" said Butters.

"How do you know, huh? Seeing other men behind my back already? You're pretty fucking pathetic, Butters. I offer to put my finger in your butthole and everything, and here you are cheating like a skank."

"I'm not cheating on you, Eric. I love you."

"And what did I tell you about gay stuff, Butters?"

"You know, Eric. If you're willing to pleasure my tushy with your finger then you should be willing to accept my love into your heart."

"Love is gay, Butters."

"It's OK to be a little bicurious, Eric. God is."

"I don't give a shit about God! I don't want your gay ass love, Butters."

"I think you do," said Butters. Tired of being restricted to the farthest side of their bed, which he was sick of falling off of in an extreme effort to not touch Eric, he instead put his arm around his husband instead. "Let me in, Eric. Feel the love I have to give."

"Oh dear god why?" Eric uttered in horror to the ceiling, realizing that this just wasn't worth it. Oh sure, he had health insurance. He had a home. He even had a bunch of credit cards out in Butters' name that he used to purchase a mountain of video games, every cable channel imaginable only to watch Terrance and Philip on the Canadian Network, collectable Chinpokomon toys for nostalgia, a lifetime supply of chipotle, a mustang, so he could rub it in everyone's faces how rich he was, and accelerated martial arts lessons for Savannah, so he could have a thoroughly trained attack dog with which to kill his endless list of enemies. No one would suspect a three year old girl was an attack dog, but her training wouldn't be complete in time to kill her stupid dad, so there was only one thing Eric could do. He had to end it. He'd rather be a hobo without insulin, video games, nostalgia, and an attack dog than be a faggot with Butters.

* * *

"Hell no," said Kyle.

"Come on, Kyle. No one wanted to sabotage this marriage as badly as you. Why won't you be my divorce attornah?"

"Because I don't fucking like you, asshole. Also, you're broke, you're a mooch, you're…"

"Jew, Jew, Jew, Jew, Jew, oh sorry, I was just translating that into the language of your people."

"Nice try, but that's a weak insult coming from you," said Kyle with a smirk. "Yeah, I see exactly what's going on now. It's so obvious."

Kyle had a hunch, and if he was right then Butters was a fucking genius. Who knew?

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You see, you and Butters are like polar opposites being drawn together, siphoning off of each others' energy. As a result, he has ten times as many panic attacks and bowel movements, and is more prone to frustration, irrationality, and not giving a shit about what others think. Whereas you," Kyle laughed a little. "You're becoming a doormat."

"WHAT?!"

"Yes. It's all coming together now. You're good with kids. You share a bed with Butters even though you don't want to. You don't get to eat all the sweets you want. You even have that creepy Sexual Harassment Panda job on the side, so you're not just maxing out your husband's credit cards. You're paying for Savannah's martial arts lessons in CASH that you EARNED."

"Shut up! Fuck you, Kyle!"

Kyle laughed some more. "Don't you get it, dumbass? You love Butters. He's a good person, and it's rubbing off on you."

"Just shut up! Stop telling all these lies."

"No, Cartman. I won't be your attorney because I was wrong about you and Butters. That wasn't the worst marriage ever. It was actually the best marriage ever, because he's turning you into a good person and you can't stand it."

"If you don't shut the fuck up right now, Kyle, I'll kill them. I'll burn that house down, I swear to fuckin' God."

"No you won't, jackass."

"Just like I didn't cook Scott Tenorman's parents in chili and feed it to him, right?"

"Scott Tenorman didn't make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside," said Kyle, laughing through his teeth as Cartman self-destructed right in front of him.

He hadn't taken Cartman's absurdly high blood pressure into account, though, and when the prospect of becoming a nice, loving husband was just too infuriating, he had a massive heart attack in Kyle Broflovski's office and died before the EMTs could even squeeze him into the ambulance.

* * *

Butters and Savannah were both devastated when Kyle broke the news to them.

"I'm so sorry, man. I didn't mean to kill Cartman," Kyle said, choked up and sad to see Butters lose yet another spouse.

"The… the worst… the worst part," said Butters, between sobs, tears, and snot. "Are the bills! So many c-credit cards in m-my name m-m-maxed out! We'll lose our house for sure! Oh God, why?"

"I didn't even get to learn how to karate chop someone's head off," said Savannah with a wibble and a sniffle. "Sensei says I still 'r-rack'a diss-a-purin.'" If Butters weren't too busy crying over credit card debt he'd probably take notice of his daughter's sudden knowledge of deadly arts.

"Told you so," said Stan, who had to be there supporting Kyle as he supported Butters, because that's what friends are for.

"Not now, Stan," said Kyle in a harsh whisper. "Are you crazy?"

"You're the one who's crazy, dude," said Stan. "No, I'm tired of pussyfooting around this. Butters needs to hear the truth."

Butters turned his gaze toward Stan, and thus the rant began.

"It doesn't matter if you're a doormat, gay, or just plain stupid, but you're pretty screwed, man. We warned you. We told you not to marry that fat fuck, Butters…"

"I am n-none of those things," said Butters, wiping his eyes. Then he sighed. "Except screwed. I am most definitely s-screwed, yes."

"Wow, Stan. Why don't you actually finish rehab before you criticize others?" Kyle spat toward his long-time best friend.

"You know what, Kyle? Maybe I will. The world is actually worth living in now that Cartman isn't in it."

"And I won't let anymore quacks harvest my organs. I'll cook them and eat them if they try. Forget this," said Kenny, tossing his cigarettes onto the lawn where Savannah could reach them. After her first smoke she felt better about the whole thing, unlike her dad, who was officially an empty shell of a man up to his ears in debt.

All was well.

* * *

"All is not well!" Shirley spat at Jesus.

"Tis the way of the Lord, babe. Eric Cartman is dead. Everyone is better off. Balance has been restored."

"Everyone except for my poor dear Leopold, and I refuse to let my three-year-old daughter take up smoking. Deadly arts is one thing, but smoking causes cancer! Do something about this!"

"I can't. The Lord had spoken. If I interfere now it could damage the fabric of time and space."

"Like I give a toot!" Jesus tried to put His arm around her and console her, but she just wasn't having it. "No! You give Leopold back his husband or we're THROUGH. Understood?"

"Oh, Mesus Christ," said Jesus, who went to have a word with His dad about violating the laws of life and death just this once, as though that Kenny guy didn't do that enough already. Shirley Temple Tation-Stotch was truly the most remarkable woman in the Universe to get Jesus to go to this sort of trouble.

Jesus maintained that the marriage of Eric Cartman and Leopold "Butters" Stotch was a mistake, but that was OK. Mistakes were vital to growth and learning, and the more God loved his children, the more he tested them. And when Eric died again in two years, Butters would have to actually deal with it, after putting so much time and energy into putting up with him.

Until then, perhaps, if Butters could start a family with the most remarkable woman in the Universe, then he could have a successful marriage with the most awful man in the Universe.

Maybe. But Jesus honestly thought He was just wasting His time, and a perfectly good space-time continuum.

Oh well. At least His girlfriend wouldn't leave Him.

* * *

"You've lost two spouses within months of each other, hiked up tens of thousands of dollars in frivolous debt, and our grand daughter has taken up smoking. Do you deny any of this, Butters?"

"No, sir," said Butters, who had to move back in with his parents and sell his house and Eric's just to put a dent in the financial hole he was in. Who knew Eric had so much financial and medical debt? Poor people should at least be able to afford diabetes. God knows enough of them had it.

"Right. You're grounded for the rest of your life, Butters."

"Oh, hamburgers," he said, marching up the stairs in shame in front of his daughter, who was smoking like a chimney. How come she wasn't grounded?

Right, because she wasn't the complete failure of a person. There was still hope for her.

It was about now that he would have sat in his room reflecting upon all the ways in which he was a bad son, father, husband, and overall human-being, but before he could do that Jesus appeared in his room.

With Eric.

Butters didn't know whether to jump for joy, or scream in terror.

"Hey, pal. Dad says you can have your husband back, but only as a ghost because He really wasn't up for breaking the space-time continuum. Not that He doesn't support gay marriage. That's just a rumor. He just has the holy shits today, and He's still kind of mad at Me… "

"Oh Jesus, that's…" Butters considered all the hell Eric put him through, but then he considered that, as a ghost, Eric wouldn't need health insurance, couldn't take out credit cards in Butters' name, could no longer be a bad influence on his daughter, and couldn't make anyone else in the world miserable with his antics anymore. He'd just be in here, with Butters, grounded for life.

There would only be room for love. Butters was absolutely smitten.

"I-I understand how Your Dad feels, Jesus. Really I do. Tell Him this is perfect," said Butters, with a big smile on his face and tears in his eyes. "Tell Him I said thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"Weak," said Eric, pouting because he had no say in this. He was perfectly content to spend eternity in hellfire and brimstone getting kicked in the nuts repeatedly. He didn't want to be a stupid ghost. Especially not a stupid ghost in Butters' room.

"OK!" said Jesus, as Butters ran up Him and gave Him a hug. "Any time, My friend." And Jesus meant it, too. There were exactly 112 people in the entire world that actually made it a better place, and Butters happened to be one of them. If he wanted Eric Cartman as a reward then by golly he would have it.

"Now what do you say, Eric? Why don't you come here and let me love you?" said Butters, holding his arms wide open for his husband.

"I'm a ghost, dumbass. Everyone knows that ghosts can't hug people. They're all transparent and stuff. Pfft-HA-too bad for your gay ass."

Butters decided to test that theory with a hug, and to Butters Eric was as solid as though he were alive. The downside was that Butters would be able to see other ghosts now, too, like the ghost of his dead grandma, but Eric would help him ignore her.

For you see, Eric could not handle the overwhelming amount of mushy, gushy, gay ass love that Butters had for him, so it was like his own personal hell, being confined to this room with Butters for the rest of eternity, for that was how long Butters was grounded for.

If only Kyle hadn't screwed Cartman over for the last time. Fucking Kyle.

"Just so you know, Butters, we're technically not married anymore since I'm dead."

"Actually, we're still married," said Butters, looking it up on the Internet. "Ghost spouses are a special exception to the rule. Neat, huh?"

"Oh, mother of fuck," Eric grumbled. "Fine, but I am not putting my finger in your butthole no matter how much you beg me to.

"Unless you kill Kyle. Then we can negotiate."

"Aww, Eric. I'll still love you even if you never stick your finger in my butthole. That's a promise."

"Really? Because I will, you know. I'll do anything. Anything you want me to do with your faggy butthole if you kill Kyle. That was my one dream in life, you know, to get revenge on that fucking Jew. You would be avenging my death, Butters. Think about it."

"How about we just cuddle?" said Butters.

Cartman screamed bloody murder, and every object in Butters' bedroom spun around them. When Butters' dad came upstairs to see what all the horrible noise was, he sensed the dark and evil energy that engulfed his son and ran away screaming. He couldn't see that it was just the ghost of Eric Cartman throwing a supernatural temper tantrum. No one could, except for Butters.

And he couldn't be happier.

**THE END**

**A/N:** So. Does Butters honestly love Cartman? Or does he just enjoy getting one up on Cartman by killing him with kindness and love? I'll leave that up to you to decide. ;)


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